Breaking Devon Brannel
by The New Vampire
Summary: A sudden flatmate at 221B becomes the subject of one of Sherlock's experiments. But she knows she deserves the pain. After all, what she's hiding will be the death of her, or the death of Sherlock and John. Soon, she finds the second impossible to choose.
1. Chapter 1

_If there's one thing I've learned over the course of all this, it's not to blame Sherlock for what he does. It's not something he can help, no matter how much he may bluster otherwise. I don't blame him, so please don't let yourself. I've seen the way you light up when he's in the room, I've seen you finally happy, and I swear, if you let me ruin that I'll come back just to kick your ass. If you have to blame someone at all, blame me. Thank you so much John, for everything, for all the things you don't even know you did. _

_You'll need to take care of him. Another unsolved puzzle won't be good for him. And don't let him think he killed me. Because in the end, I'll be the one who's responsible. As it should be._

_I love you. But you knew that. _

_Goodbye John_

It was wonderful, you know. To never be the smartest person in the room anymore. Did that confuse you? The way I never resented you, seemed pleased with the insults, with the venom, was delighted when you ignored me? No, probably not. Because you see through everything.

Or should I say, almost anything? You never guessed correctly. Not once. And so you kept pressing, wanting to see how far you could go, wanting to know me as easily as you know everybody else, more and more and more pressure. I'm sorry to disappoint, but you'll never get to find out. You were expecting a last confession, I'm sure. But instead, I'm saying this.

Psychopath and sociopath are the same thing, did you know that? There is a generally accepted nuance, this is true, but both are terms for what's known as Anti-social Personality Disorder. 

I love you. But you'll never have to deal with it.

Goodbye Sherlock

John Watson unclenches his hand, letting the note fall to the floor before whirling on the other man in the room, startling Sherlock enough that the taller man actually begins backing away.

"Where is she, Sherlock! Don't you dare try to tell me there aren't theories whizzing through that brilliant mind of yours! You know exactly where she's gone and how she's going to do it, and how to stop her and you are going to tell me right now or I'll-"

He breaks off as Sherlock shimmies under his arm and roughly grabs his coat from where it had been flung across the couch, pulling it on without breaking stride.

"Well? Are you coming or not?"

John's still stuck on how easy this was. Is it possible that Sherlock had, despite his protests, started to care about their reluctant flatmate?

"Come _on_ John! There's a puzzle to be solved, and time is limited!"

Every once in a while, even John is surprised by how callous Sherlock Holmes can be

As they run out the door, Devon Brannel steps out from the closet where she had been hiding. She knows she doesn't have much time before Sherlock figures out her ploy and returns to 221B, with John in tow. And she's also all too sure that she wouldn't be able to do what she's about to do with both of them in the room. With shaking hands, she raises the gun to her head. The sound of the door slamming open is lost in the cacophony of a gunshot.

I always think a story is so much more enjoyable when you think you know the ending, don't you? Sometimes you're right and sometimes you're wrong, but every twist and turn seems so much more important when you think you know where they lead. But like every story, this one has to return to the beginning before the end can really be explained. And the beginning was something so very unremarkable. The beginning of this story, was an phone call.


	2. Chapter 2

The inhabitants of 221B Baker Street wake with a start as "I Need A Doctor" suddenly bursts into their hearing. Sherlock promptly rolls over and curls in on himself, knowing that nobody would dare set that atrocious song as a ringtone on his phone. John, however, groans, recognizing the ring. He briefly considers ignoring it, but unlike most Americans, the owner of this particular ringtone is usually aware of the time difference. Feeling blindly for his phone on the dresser, he barely manages to answer it before it goes to voicemail. Voice raspy, he skips an opening salute in favour of a terse query.

"What?"

"John….oh god, the time difference, I'm so sorry…"

If there's one thing that jolts John Watson awake, it's the sound of a frantic woman. Take that however you will.

"No no, it's fine. What's wrong?"

It's impossible for the worry he feels not to seep into his voice.

"I, um…I need you to pick me up at Heathrow, tomorrow, or I guess later today, please, I'm so sorry, but I can't…there's nobody else I can ask and…"

"You're in London?"

"Well…technically I'm on layover in Brussels…but I'm arriving in London around two…acting job and my, um, my ride, well, um, nobody quite knows where she went and I can't put my arrival back any further…we have to start shooting."

"Of course I'll pick you up, we can catch up over tea and—"

The phone is grabbed out of his hand by an impatient Sherlock, who looks down at it with distaste and promptly hangs up.

"Sherlock!"

His lover only rolls his eyes and snuggles back around John. When John does not relax into the embrace, however, he decides something must be done.

"You were being loud and I was tired. She can always take a cab. Anyone who can afford the trip to London on an actors' salary can certainly afford that, and if she's cheap, she can just take the Tube."

John rolls his eyes, but does, in fact, go back to sleep. Plenty of time to argue with Sherlock at a more decent hour.

Devon looks at the phone and briefly considers calling back before deciding that she's burdened John enough. Instead she takes a deep, if rather shaky, breath and reaches for her carry-on. She starts making herself presentable, figuring that she's hardly going to be able to sleep on the final flight to London.

All that careful work is ruined when she sits down at her gate with a coffee only for a tall man in an impeccable (even at three forty five AM, local time) suit to take the seat next to her, stretch nonchalantly, and scratch his elbow.

_Plan in action. Prepared?_

She slowly twirls one curl around her finger, signaling yes even as her heart drops to the floor.

As she walks to the bathroom with tears in her eyes, there's already a plan forming in her head. Maybe, just maybe she can get him out of this mess. Find some way to bargain…

If there's one thing Devon Brannel knows from years in the acting business, it's that nothing is ever non-negotiable, after all.

She checks her phone one last time as she boards the plane, silently begging John to cancel on her. But the screen remains teasingly, torturingly, blank.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N I think, now that things have settled down IRL, I can set up a logical positing schedule. So here goes. Wednesday is my major day to write, with time stolen from other days as I can. With this in mind, my schedule should be as follows. Breaking Devon Brannel will be updated on Tuesdays, Unfurling on Thursdays, and Alexis on Saturdays. Feel totally free to bug me if I don't stick to this schedule! Now, on to the story.

If it weren't for the jet lag, Devon would be pacing right now. As it is, she carefully disregards years of vocal training and slouches through security and customs, grabbing her bag, and sitting down in arrivals to wait. It's half an hour later when she feels her hopes start to rise. Maybe he isn't coming after all. Maybe he's forgotten, or decided not to come. Maybe—  
>Sorry about the wait. ~5 mins –JW<br>She feels her heart fall to the ground.

Of course, despite her best efforts, it promptly leaps back up into her throat at the sight of John. He's paler, thinner and the lines on his face are more drawn, his hair darker than the last time they'd seen each other, before his discharge. But more than anything else he looks indescribably happy. Despite the gravity of the situation, she finds herself grinning at him as she rises, collects her bags and walks over.

By contrast, it's all she can do to keep from glaring at the tall, lanky man who sidles up to John and wraps an arm around him in what is undoubtedly supposed to be a nonchalant manner. This is the man who is going to kill John Watson. And Devon has no idea how she's going to stop him.

"Devon? Is it really you? What happened to the girl who ran across half of Heathrow to knock me to the ground with a hug?"

She giggles a little at the memory-he'd spent all of that visit demanding she carry everything due to his 'injuries'.

"That girl hasn't had her morning coffee yet and hasn't eaten since Munich."

"And considering all you had in Munich was-"

John elbows Sherlock in the side. Devon pretends not to notice, instead looking towards John and waiting for an introduction.

"Devon, this is Sherlock Holmes, my-"  
>"Partner."<br>There's an exasperated huff from John.

"Yes, thank you Sherlock. Sherlock, this is-"

"Devon Brannel, actress, 38. American, trained at LAMDA which explains the accent-even when she's talking normally there's a slight tinge of RP in her words, likely a simple reflex from hearing us speak. She just ended a relationship a few weeks ago, possibly because he cheated, more likely because she's in love with someone else, someone who she thought she had a chance with but likely just figured out there wasn't one, by the tear tracks on her makeup-"

"Sherlock!"

"It's alright John. I've had worse."

When John looks at her in apology, she flushes a little, hoping he thinks it's embarrassment at what was said and not joy he didn't go any farther.

Her phone rings, and she's set to ignore it until she hears the ringtone.

"Do you mind if I take it John? It's my...agent."

She pauses purposefully, hoping to arouse his suspicions. But he just smiles and tells her to go ahead.

"No, no, it's perfectly alright. Yes. Yes, of course it will work. No, no way. Tell them to recheck my contract, I'm sure it's in there somewhere!"

She holds her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and mouths "be right back" at them, before striding away.

When she comes back nearly twenty minutes later, there's a grim determination to her face.

"I'm really sorry John, but it looks like I'll have to cancel lunch on you. I'm going to have to book a flight back to the states."

She shakes her head, annoyed past the point of words.

"Apparently the people doing this project just lost their accommodations for me and have no plans of finding somewhere else-and I certainly can't afford living here until the shoot's finished."

For a moment she thinks Sherlock's glare will be enough to stem the offer she knows is coming. But apparently not even the force of his 'partner' can stop John from helping a friend. It's normally something she loves about John, but right now she hates it.

"Devon, if it would be at all helpful, we've got a bedroom we can-"

She doesn't even let him finish, shaking her head vehemently. Although the effect may have been ruined by the yawn she lets out.

"I couldn't ask you to do that. I wouldn't be able to pay you rent, and you know how weird my hours are—I'd be keeping you up at three in the morning by running lines in the kitchen or something!"

She throws in a giggle, but allows herself a mental grimace when she sees John just firm his stance.

"It'd be just like old times, then. You wouldn't be any more trouble than this one, here, and besides, with all you've done for me I can hardly begrudge you a spare bedroom."

Devon rolls her eyes. "I should have known you'd bring that up again. It's hardly the same thing, and I'm sure I can find some sort of work back in the states—"

"Look, the next flight back to America doesn't leave for what, six hours? Let's get something to eat and you can at least see the place."

She's going to have to give in eventually, Devon knows, and if she protests any more it would be noticeably out of character. God knows she's always given into John before.

With a playful glare, she grabs her luggage and gestures to John to lead the way.

"Alright, I give. But this lunch better be delicious, mister!"

John gives her his lopsided grin and steals one of her bags, Sherlock striding ahead of them without looking back.


End file.
